The Tragedy Of Aunty Ivy

The Tragedy of Aunty Ivy
By Stephen A. Abell
No. of words: 1048

Aunty Ivy was a good woman, and I will not have a bad word said about her. Some may say that she was spiteful, but in truth, she spoke her mind and called a spade a spade. She was also a great believer in an eye for an eye, even though she never set out to intentionally hurt anyone. Knowing what I do now, some people should consider themselves lucky not to have felt her wrath.

There are some people, myself included, that considered her a little eccentric. You see, Aunty Ivy had a thing for hats and handbags. If there was an occasion, a party or some-such coming up, then she required a new hat and a matching handbag. This may have been her downfall. I must confess that I may have been partly responsible for her demise. My marriage was nearing and Aunty Ivy had taken herself into town on a quest for the perfect accoutrements to her outfit.

Even though she was now in her seventies she still prided herself on her fitness and would always take the stairs over the lifts and escalators in the shops. She had just finished looking around the Co-op's ladies department and having found nothing decided to try elsewhere. The ladies department is three floors up, on the topmost part of the building. Catering for the older lady most customers use the lift to come and go so the stairs were quiet and free of traffic. All except for the teenage girl that pushed Aunty off the top step with such force that she missed all the stairs but the bottom one. This one cracked open her skull sending shards of bone into her brain, killing her immediately. Of course we never knew this for sure and I'm only speculating that this happened, as I said before, knowing what I know now.

Aunty Ivy was found three hours after her untimely, rude and violent passing. Her handbag had been taken, with all her possessions inside, purse, house-keys, photographs, bus-pass and other personal items. The young girl even took her umbrella; as I remember it had been raining that day. I later found out the girls name and that she had been a junkie, both of which are of no importance, now or ever. Well at least this one wont get off with just a slapped hand by saying "I couldn't help it ya' honour. I needed a fix. I wasn't me'self."

Even though I used to visit Aunty with my parents once a month, and fewer when I got older, I never realised just how many hats and handbags she had. She lived in the two bedroom terrace house for as long as I can remember. Her husband died when I was eight and the house had remained a one person abode since. She never seemed interested in any other men or even in romance. Making do with the Mills and Boon books. She had joined clubs and made friends, gone on holidays, and judging by the five hundred and sixty hats and handbags lovingly stored in the back bedroom, she had attended a lot of weddings, anniversaries and the like. It took mum and her other sister, with the help of some of Aunty Ivy's friends, four hours to find the correct, and perfect, hat and handbag for this sombre farewell.

As Aunty Ivy used to say: "If you are going to spend any amount of time doing something, then, do it right." She was going to be dead for an awfully long time.

It had been a good service, the vicar and a close friend had spoken, classical music had played in the background. The strangest part of the event was when the curtain closed around the casket and "March of the Sugarplum Fairies" started to play. That was kind of surreal. Looking around the congregation I noticed that everyone was smiling. I even chortled a little, but stifled it under my hand.

Good bye Aunty Ivy, you wont be forgotten.

Speaking of the forgotten, the junkie. Well it was a couple of days later that I heard about the girls death. It was the talking point of the night, at my wedding reception. In search of more loot, more money, for her next fix the teenager had gone to my Aunty's house the day after the cremation. She had the keys from the handbag and a couple of addressed bills, even for a spaced out freak sometimes one plus one makes two. Unfortunately for her this was one of her lucid days.

They found her at the bottom of Aunty Ivy's stairs. Her mouth had been crammed with money. Later, I heard rumours that twenties, tens and five pound notes had been lodged far down her throat and during the post-mortem they'd found change rattling about in her stomach. That is the rumour and should be given the credence it deserves, it did however make me laugh. The umbrella though is truth. This was found rammed deep into the girl's vagina and then opened. I would not like to even speculate on the amount of force that this act would have required. I was later told, by a friend of Aunty's, that the umbrella used in this act was the black one she had kept for rainy-day funerals. Even through all of this violence and violation the doctor said she'd been alive and aware. The police were stunned when, after questioning the neighbours, found out that no one had heard anything, as both households had been in at the time. The cause of the junkies death was a severe blow to the back of the head, possibly sustained after falling down the stairs, or after being pushed.

Police are still looking for the perpetrator of this crime.

They wont find her though, not unless they go around to Aunty Jill's house where she now resides on the mantel above the fireplace. That is until Aunty Jill and her husband Mick go across to America to visit Niagara Falls and cast her ashes into the wind there. You see, that's where Aunty Ivy spent her honeymoon.

As it should, the last word goes to Aunty Ivy who also said, many a time: "All's well that ends well."